


Holy Holy Holy

by Eflauta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Other, S9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eflauta/pseuds/Eflauta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Holy, holy, holy!  Lord God Almighty!" sing the mind of a deposed King - Crowley, lost in reminiscence of an evil deed well done as the hymn rings out inside his mind. It's not quite the way that he remembered, there didn't used to be any guilt. And yet there it was, in the back of his mind. Guilt, for what he had done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Holy Holy

 

Holy  
 _Holy_  
 **Holy**  
  
It echoed through his head.  
  
 _Lord God Almighty_  
  
Like a choir stuck on repeat  
  
 _Early in the morning, our songs shall rise to thee_  
  
In a church he’d burned down a while back  
  
Holy  
No  
 _Holy_  
 _NO_  
 **Holy**  
  
It ate at him from the inside.  
  
 _Merciful and mighty_  
  
Like he was once supposed to be. The song trailed off, about God, and three persons and a blessed trinity. He doubted Reginald Heber had ever witnessed the true work of God, had ever come close to knowing his nature, because that blessed Trinity was a hell of a lot more complex and a lot less enticing than any hymn could ever sound.  
In the darkness, he remembered, he could see the match he’d held, the spark he’d let jump into flame. _"Holy, Holy, Holy"_ they had sung with all their hearts - a small British congregation singing praises in the night. They’d asked an angel to protect them, in their prayer of supplication, to keep them from the evils that this world held in store. Instead, they’d gotten Crowley. Well, he’d been camped out for a while, but he’d heard the words they’d said and now he heard the words they sung, and oh, they burned against the vice that had come to rule his life.  
  
 _Holy, Holy, Holy._  
  
The match sizzled into flame.  
  
 _Merciful and mighty._  
  
It fell onto the hay that he had piled all around them - dry kindling from the barns, now ignited into flame, crackling as the heat consumed it, licking toward the little church. With a tiny nudge, he spurred it on, with a thought he slammed the shutters, and at a glance, the door was sealed, trapping all within that chapel as the flames and heat climbed higher, now climbing up wood, and burning through the pitch and consuming now the roofen thatch as it chocked out all the air with its deadly smoke and ash. And he heard their screams begin to echo, across the quiet countryside. Screams of terror, no longer praising, no longer lauding his Father above.  
  
  
 _Holy holy holy - now the darkness hid him,_  
and now the eye of righteous man his evil would not see.  
Only he was there now, there was none beside him,  
perfect in power, in hate, and evil deeds  
  
  
Holy  
 _Holy_  
 **Holy**

  
_Unholy_ was he - wholly consumed by the vice that had broken away from his grace when he’d fallen from heaven. Had the Lord God Almighty woven this in his plan? Did he mold these pots of British people for the wrath of Crowley’s flames? Had he made them to build this church so he could burn it to the ground? Had he foreseen what his actions would trigger - what he would cause when he’d cast out his son, the morning star? Had he known just who would follow - and how many they had been. One third of the angels, and Crowley among them…  
  
 _Merciful and mighty_  
  
Those words echoed dimly, as the screams rang out through his mind, mixed, in recollection, as he sat there, in the dark. Cold chains hung from him, from the collar on his neck, from the cuffs around his wrists - from the iron that encompassed his ankles, and held him to the chair.  
  
 _Holy, Holy, Holy_  
  
He was meant to be Holy.  
  
 _Merciful, and mighty_  
  
He was meant to have compassion. The grace cried out within him, straining to be heard, to be nourished, to he heeded. He was meant to he Holy!  
  
He was meant to be Holy  
 _He was meant to be Holy._  
He was meant to have compassion,  
To have mercy in his might.  
  
Holy  
  
Holy  
  
Holy.


End file.
